Yes. This. That’s the shit I’m talking about.
I lean toward her, interested, but otherwise sit perfectly still, longing to hear her speak.
“Go on.”
“You…have the strongest arms I’ve ever seen.”
Yes.
“You have a leg fetish.”
I nod, water bottle poised at my watering mouth. “Fact.”
“You knew I wasn’t a tutor the day we met but you came over anyway.”
“Twice,” I confirm, chugging on my water, the room-temp liquid pouring down my throat.
“You like working with your hands, and despite what everyone thinks—what I thought when I first met you—you’re not a total man whore.”
I sputter, choking on the laugh, spitting out a mouthful of water in the process until it dribbles cold and wet down my chin. Yanking up the hem of my cotton tee, I wipe my face with a few swipes.
“How do you know I’m not a man whore?”
“I didn’t say you weren’t, I said not totally. For one, you didn’t make a move on my roommate Sydney when you had the chance and she probably wanted you to—and for the life of her she can’t figure out why. And two, you didn’t make a move on me in Utah even though we shared the same bed.”
“And you weren’t wearing pajama bottoms.”
“Correct.”
“Why would you do that, by the way?”
She sighs, loud and long and breathy. “Ugh, are we back to that?”
“Fuck yeah we’re back to that!” I’m indignant. “You knew damn well what you were doing. Cunning femme fatale. Not wearing pajama bottoms was shady and ruthless.”
She giggles a soft, tinkling laugh, sweet and delighted, toying with the buttons of her pale pink cardigan. “Femme fatale?” James rolls her eyes. “Hardly.”
My gaze lowers, settling on that second glossy button where her long, lean fingers push it in and out of the buttonhole, right in the center of those round, fantastically full breasts—the breasts I tried to get a sneak peek of at minimum one dozen times on the trip.
“Please.” I snort, crossing my arms over my broad chest. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing flouncing around with no pants on.”
Her grin spreads wide. “You’re crazy.”
“I call bullshit. You knew that was driving me nuts.”
“Well yeah, but…it could have been anyone running around pants-less and you would have tried to sleep with them.”
“Did we not just establish that I didn’t make a move on your roommate what’s-her-face?”
“Sydney. Right, yes, but—”
“And I did make a move on you.”
“You did? When?”
“Remember when I said I was trying to fuck you?”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not making a move on me. That’s blatantly telling me you want to sleep with me.”
“Not sleep. Fuck. Huge difference, Jim.”
“You know, just when I think you have some deep-rooted sensitivity just dying to get out, you ruin it by talking.”
I shrug my broad shoulders. “You can’t blame me for being honest.”
“No, but jeez, Oz, sometimes a girl doesn’t want to have it shoved down her throat like that. She’d like to have an actual conversation. Be romanced.”
The phrase ‘shoved down her throat’ makes me want to giggle like a thirteen-year-old. I manage not to, but barely, although I cannot resist mentioning it. It’s too damn good.
“Do you have any idea what you just said? You said shove and throat, and I immediately thought blowjob. So don’t even—hey, sit down. Where are you going?”
She’s packing up her laptop with a roll of her eyes. “Home. As much as I’d love to stay, I really do have some serious work to do.”
“You get so fucking huffy. Would you sit back down please?”
“I do not get huffy!” James sets her bag back on the table and crosses her arms. “I’ll stay if you can give me one good reason why I should sit back down and let you continue to distract me. One. I’m pretty sure you can’t do it.”
“Wanna bet?”
A decisive nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Terrific.” Because I got this. “You’re on. What are the stakes? Make ’em good.”
“How about you choose mine and I choose yours.”
Bad idea, Jim.
Horrible, horrible idea. So horrible, in fact, I’m practically rubbing my hands together with glee.
“Good. Ladies first.”
“If you can’t come up with one legitimate reason to keep me in this room, you have to…” Jameson furrows her brows in concentration. “You have to…” She makes a little humming thought. “Hmmm. Let me think.”
“Take your time,” I coax, leaning back in the study room’s big leather office chair. I spin around a few times, watching her scrumptiously from the corner of my eye as she bites her lip, thinking hard. “I have all night.”
She’s quiet for an entire two minutes then snaps her fingers. “All right, I’ve got it! If you can’t come up with a reason I approve of, you have to cook for me.”
Is she fucking serious?
I try not to yawn at her mind-numbing idea, but it’s so lame I let one slip out.
“Cook for you? That’s it?” To say I’m disappointed is a gross understatement, and it must be palpable because she nods with a smirk. “Cooking as in Let’s eat! or cooking as is You bring the chocolate body drizzle, I’ll bring the tongue?”
“Cooking as in home-cooked meal.”
I lean forward in the chair, the smooth leather seat and wheels creaking and straining under my weight when I give it one more spin. “All right. My turn.”
I let the silence drag before slapping my hands together with a satisfying clap, rubbing them together gleefully. “If I win—when I win—I get to pin you down again. Get you down on the mat. Get you sweaty.”
On the mat, in the gym, in the dark, when no one else is around.
Jameson rolls her eyes, but I can see the doubt materializing behind her flippant gaze. It becomes tangible when she swallows apprehensively. “Uh, okay. You can pin me down again, I guess.”
I begin ticking off reasons she should stay with me; they spill from my tongue like the sweat dripping off my forehead during a match. Fluid, molten, and drenched.
“One reason for you to stay? I want you to. Second reason: you’re driving me to distraction and I can’t concentrate unless you’re with me. Three: I want to pop the buttons on your damn sweater. Fourth: glasses. Five: I might need your help with an answer; you seem really smart.”
Her mouth forms a straight, unimpressed line at that last one.
“But the real reason I want you to stay?” I draw out the sentence, emphasizing the last few words. “You’re the only girl on this campus I have any respect for.”
I push back on the table and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms and letting those factoids sink in.
“Well.” James gulps. “That’s—”
“That’s the truth. I respect the hell out of you, and if you leave, I’m leaving too, and then I won’t get anything done. I’ll fail my homework, fall behind, and flunk out, thus making me ineligible for my scholarship. Do you want that hanging over your head?”
That cheeky smile I love returns. “No, certainly not.”
“Good. Then sit down and get out your calendar.”
“For what?”
“I win, which means I’m going to pin you to the mat and you’re going to like it, so we need to pick a date.” Her mouth falls open, incredulous. “Now sit back down and do your homework, Jimmy.”
Sebastian
I don’t know how I find myself outside Jameson’s house, on her street. On her lawn. On her front porch, knocking. But by the grace of God, the universe decided to grant me a favor, and for the first time in my collegiate years, my classes were done by late morning.
Practice ended early. I don’t have to work.
The team bus doesn’t leave until late.
So here I stand on Jameson’s porch, fist raised to knock.
I give it a few brisk raps and wait. Footpads approach the door and I straighten to my full height, paste a smile on my mouth, and wait for the deadbolts to slide free. The knob turns. Door gets cracked open a sliver and a giddy twitter emerges.
It’s not Jameson.
My smile falters, but I quickly recover. “Hey Sydney. What’s up?”
I stuff my hands inside the pockets of my lightweight winter jacket and bounce on the balls of my feet.
“Oz! Hi!” Sydney exclaims, all blonde hair, tits, and excitement. “Did you get my text? I texted you!”
Yeah, no shit. Ten texts, all of them annoying and unanswered. I try to act startled by this revelation. “You texted me! Weird. None of them came through.”
Lies, lies, lies, and they roll off my tongue like honey.
She screws up her heavily made-up face into a pout. “Really? Shoot. There must be something wrong with my phone. I’ll have to take it in to have it looked at.”
“Yeah, good idea. So…” I cut to the chase. “Is Jameson home?”
“Jameson?”
“We didn’t have plans but I thought we’d hit the library or something.”